


Father + Son + Father - Codex

by Emachinescat



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Also James MacGyver Sucks, Angst, Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016) Whump, Episode AU: s04e08 Father + Son + Father - Codex, FebuWhump2021, FebuwhumpAlt9, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Panic Attacks, Revenge, Whump, febuwhumpday11, references to human trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29362080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: When the MacGyvers find themselves lured into the backyard of one of their greatest enemies, an unhinged Mason takes advantage of the happy coincidence and begins to plot his revenge. AU of 4x08, where Codex is a little later to the party than they were in the show, allowing Mason some quality time with James MacGyver's son. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 11: Gunpoint
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32
Collections: Febuwhump 2021 - Emachinescat, febuwhump 2021





	Father + Son + Father - Codex

**Author's Note:**

> So, the season 5 episode with Mason came out literally right before I wrote this. Bearing in mind what happened with him in that episode, this is definitely AU – in this story, Mason is far more unhinged and unforgiving than he is canonically. Spoilers for season 4, particularly episode 8. Also, I am not a James MacGyver fan (who is, though?). I tried to portray him a bit more like he is in the show here, but my negative vibes regarding him probably still shine through lol.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

James MacGyver caught the roll of duct tape automatically as Mason tossed it in his direction.

"I'm telling you," Phoenix's Oversight insisted, not breaking eye contact with the man who blamed him for the death of his son. "This has to be a setup. If you didn't try to draw us in, then someone wanted us to find each other. We could _all_ be in danger." He could sense his son standing rigidly just behind him, watching for any opportunity for escape on the one hand and for any sign of approaching danger on the other. But all was quiet, and Mason's gun never wavered, offering no opportunity to make a move or run.

Mason frowned and emitted a low hum that sounded more like an animal's growl than a human voice. He spread one hand to the side questioningly, and in his eerie, drawling cadence he asked disbelievingly, "Who?" Before either of his prisoners could answer, he continued, a dark glee in his words and rising in his eyes. The gun he held on them never wavered. "Something may have brought you here," he said, "maybe some outside force." He took a step forward, a hungry look in his gaze as it landed briefly on James and then settled pointedly on his son just over his shoulder. "I'm not a religious man, but I might even say it's providence."

Angus spoke up, and James was proud to hear that his voice was completely level, his son seemingly unaffected by the situation they found themselves in. "You know it's something real. Someone drew us together. They could come for us at any moment. We need to move."

Mason considered this, then gave a curt nod. He kept the gun trained on them and said, "I have a trapdoor, an escape route. We'll go through there. Ah-ah-ah," he scolded as James made to set aside the tape he still held. "Hold on to that. Once we've relocated, we're going to need it."

* * *

The tunnel came out about half a mile from the cabin, into a heavily wooded area. There was no way to tell if whoever had lured them all together – it had to Codex, Mac thought grimly, it couldn't be anyone else – had encroached upon the cabin yet. It was too far away, and concealed by the trees.

Any way he looked at it, it was a lose-lose situation. Mason or Codex. Neither option sounded fun, and the third option – escape – was currently out of range, much like their comms back to Phoenix. Mason had afforded them no opportunity to fight back or improvise on their way through the tunnel, into the woods, and to a smaller cabin tucked away about a mile outside of the tunnel's exit. He made sure to stay several feet behind his prisoners, keeping the gun trained on them but never getting close enough to allow them an opportunity to try to wrest it from him. They were forced to walk with their hands on their heads, one of Oversight's still holding the roll of duct tape. Mason wasn't taking any chances.

Upon entering the little cabin, Mac looked around and saw that it was scarcely furnished. "Nice vacation home," he said wryly.

Mason didn't rise to the bait "It would be foolish to have an escape tunnel with nowhere to escape _to_. It's nothing fancy, but it serves its purpose."

He got straight to business, the barrel of the gun aiming directly at Mac's head – but it was the older MacGyver that he addressed. "Do it," he ordered, and both Mac and his father knew exactly what he was talking about. "And don't try to sneak anything past me, Dad – I know you know how to make sure someone can't escape." The pit that had been forming in Mac's gut from the moment he'd first seen Mason deepened as the man added, "If you don't do it right, I go for the knee." The gun moved to the mentioned target. Mac had no doubt that he meant what he said.

Apparently his father sensed that Mason was serious too, for the next moment, Mac's hands were lifted from his head and pulled behind his back. He could tell his father was being as gentle as possible, but he also knew it was only going to get worse.

As James MacGyver began taping his son's wrists tightly behind his back, he muttered into his ear, "Are you okay, Angus?"

Mac gave a slight, curt nod. Out of the corner of his mouth, he asked, "Any ideas?"

The frustration was evident in his father's voice. "He's smart, I'll give him that. He's not making any rookie mistakes."

Mac gave a wry chuckle that held no humor at all. "Maybe Codex will swoop in and save the day."

"We'll trade one bad day for a worse one," James half-joked. He had finished with Mac's wrists, having wrapped them with layer upon layer of sticky tape. Mac could already feel his hands going numb, and a sharp ache was forming in his shoulders and his upper back.

Mason was obviously enjoying the spectacle, his opportunity for vengeance bestowing him with a sick sort of giddiness. He ordered, "I know how slippery you MacGyvers are – do the hands too."

At these words, Mac's heart picked up speed. Dread at the thought of his hands being completely out of commission raced through him. No one had ever been this thorough in capturing or restraining him. He was used to maintaining some level of control over a situation, no matter how hopeless it seemed. But with no use of his hands, he would be out of the game, and that scared him far more than he cared to admit.

Either his father picked up on his stress, or he was just as perturbed by the overkill as Mac was. "You've got to be kidding me."

"You killed my son," Mason hissed, and he was as terrifying and dangerous as a poisonous snake in that moment. "I don't _kid_."

Keenly aware of the bullet poised to smash into his left knee at any insurrection, Mac wisely bit his tongue and avoided any snide remarks. Wordlessly, his father obeyed Mason's orders, and raw panic began to claw at Mac's chest as he felt his hands being crushed together, tape winding around them until he couldn't budge his fingers even a centimeter in either direction. He tried to clamp down on the cold helplessness that threatened to rise, but was dangerously close to failing.

"Good. Why don't you both have a seat?" He indicated two sturdy-looking dining chairs near the center of the room. With no other recourse, the MacGyvers obeyed. Mac desperately tried to think of a way out. The room was all but bare, but at least three possibilities for escape came to him as he scanned his surroundings. They all depended on the use of his hands and Mason leaving them alone for at least five minutes, though, and neither seemed likely at this point.

Within minutes both Mac and his father were lashed so securely to their respective chairs that they could barely move. The only difference was that James' arms were taped to the arms of his chair, while Mac's wrists and hands were twisted cruelly behind him, completely cocooned in a hot, sticky, immobile web of tape. Mac knew that all of this was done to irk his father, a little added bonus to whatever twisted revenge the man had in mind for the death of his son.

With his "guests" completely at his mercy, Mason perched delicately on the edge of the end table and smiled darkly. He still held his gun, aimed right at Mac's heart now, as if refusing to leave anything to chance. Or perhaps – more likely – it was a power move, an intimidation tactic, used to display his power over the situation, and over Mac himself. "As fun as this has been," he said, "It's time we get to the really good part."

Mac broke in, trying to make the man see reason. "The people who are after us – Codex – they're not going to give up when they see you're not home. They'll definitely find your trapdoor, and track us here. We need to ban together to get away from them." Hoping to appeal to Mason's sense of self-preservation, he continued, "They targeted you, too. You're in as much danger as we are."

But it was clear that Mason was beyond reason at this point. His chance for revenge against the man he believed to be responsible for his son's death had fallen miraculously onto his lap like, as he had said earlier, an act of twisted providence. He didn't even deign to acknowledge Mac's words of warning.

Instead, he struck off on a conversation of his own, one that made Mac's blood boil more than anything that had been said or done to him up to this point: "You know,'' he said in a voice that would have sounded contrite coming from any other person, "I truly am sorry about what happened to your friend. His death was a necessary evil. The hell that your father put me through, put my son through, was not just physical. Imagine the fear, the desperation, all those terrible emotions, that my son experienced before he was butchered like a lamb for slaughter. That's why I had to kill your pal Charlie. It just wouldn't be enough to kill you." A stifling pause. Neither Mac nor James spoke, so precarious was their predicament. Mason, always calm and darkly calculating, was now allowing his emotions to dictate his decisions. That made him more dangerous than ever.

He continued: "The sad truth of it all is that you are the only one here that's truly innocent here, Angus." The use of his first name, especially by the twisted man standing before him, made Mac's stomach curdle. "And yet, you are the one who is going to have to suffer for your father's selfish pride."

Now James did speak up, his voice tight with carefully reigned in emotions. "Don't you think he's suffered enough? That we both have? You put him through hell, played with his emotions – killed one of his closest friends in front of him. Why not let enough be enough?"

"I think that's enough from the peanut gallery," Mason spat. He peeled off more duct tape and slapped it over James's MacGyver's mouth. Then he moved to Mac, something akin to sympathy in his eyes. "You have your father to blame for everything that happens next," he said softly, then gagged Mac as well. The moment he stepped back, admiring his handiwork, the gun was back in his hands, ready. Waiting.

In that moment, Mac felt more terrified and alone than ever before, even though he was in a room with two other people, one of them his own father. Everything had been taken from him - his voice, his hands, his movement. Already his muscles were cramping up, and he could feel sweat coating the inside of the duct tape trapping his hands. Mason had obviously cracked since their last encounter, and Mac dreaded to know what the man had in store for him.

He didn't have to wait for long.

"Now that I can be sure there will be no more interruptions," Mason said, drawing out the words just long enough to make them uncomfortable, and to send unbidden shivers down Mac's spine, "let's get down to business." Mac had no clue how the man was able to hold the gun so steady for so long. He didn't even look tired. "Just because I wasn't expecting to see the two of you today doesn't mean I haven't been preparing for our next meeting already. It has taken me a while to figure out exactly what to do with you, Angus, what would cause your father the most pain. I'm still not entirely sure which route to pick."

His eyes lit up, and Mac's stomach plummeted to his shoes. "I know! Why don't I run my ideas by you, and you can help me decide. Dad, you get no say in this," he snapped at MacGyver's father, who was sitting rigid but completely composed in his bonds. If it weren't for the clenched fists, he might have been completely unconcerned with how out of hand everything had gotten. Mac knew his dad was Oversight, that showing any emotion in times like these – or, quite frankly, at all – was something he simply didn't know how to do anymore. It still stung, seeing him so apparently unbothered by the fact that his son's most likely horrific fate was being discussed so casually in front of him.

Mason came forward and stood directly in front of MacGyver, now ignoring James completely. He squatted down so that he was eye level and began to speak in a conversational manner – it was like he was talking about the weather. Mac fought the urge to squirm in his bonds, in the personal duct tape prison he'd been trapped in. He allowed no fear to seep through his facade. Perhaps he was more like his father than he thought.

"Well, kid, I suppose there's no point in sugar coating it. I thought about killing you the next time I saw you, simple and clean." Mac's heart all but spluttered to a halt as the cool barrel of Mason's gun was placed delicately on his temple. He couldn't tell if Mason was bluffing, or trying to scare him, or seconds away from pulling the trigger. Everything else faded away – it was just he and Mason and the gun against his forehead, and Mac stopped breathing until Mason let out a dark chuckle and pulled the gun away, still trained on his captive but no longer an imminent threat. Mac gulped in a deep breath, trying to shake off the paralyzing fear that had momentarily caught up with him.

As Mason moved back a couple of paces, he continued his earlier thought, "Honestly, though, I decided against that course of action pretty quickly. I know that my son didn't have an easy death. I can't give you that, either. So then I thought about torturing you–" Mac forced himself not to react in any way, but his heart pounded madly in his chest as if trying to make up for any missed beats from his last scare, "but I'm not one to get my hands dirty, not like that.

"I've given serious thought to selling you off to the highest bidder," he said, and this time, Mac couldn't help himself – he jerked at his bonds, fear thrumming through him like a war drum, droning out his senses. Surely even Mason wasn't that cruel? Mac didn't dare look at his own father anymore, didn't want to see what was in his eyes, didn't want to know if it was horror or fear or anger or that horrible emptiness he so often hid behind. Unconsciously, Mac tugged at the tape binding his hands, but it held strong. Every muscle in his body was taut, straining for release, to run. "If the killer Murdoc were not in custody, he probably would have paid a handsome sum for you. I've heard that you're his favorite toy, after all." Mason almost purred the words. Mac fought back the urge to vomit, knowing that doing so now could cause him to suffocate.

"Don't get me wrong – there are a lot of people, a lot of terrorist cells, that would love to get their hands on one Angus MacGyver. Did you know that there's a ridiculous bounty on your head for a fellow by the name of El Noche? He may be in prison, but I'm sure some of his friends would _love_ to meet you." The name alone almost sent Mac into a panic attack, tied to another chair in another strange room, being waterboarded with nitrogen, unable to breath, dying, agony… Mason leaned forward and patted Mac on the cheek. Mac flinched back wildly, and Mason chuckled. "I can see that hit a nerve. Maybe we'll go with that.

"I suppose I could keep you," he mused, and the way he said it made Mac's skin crawl – it was like he was talking about a flea-bitten animal. "Hide you away somewhere, take your father's son away from him in a very personal way. You'd never replace my son, of course. Not even close. I'd probably kill you when I got tired of you.

"But I think the most promising idea I've had so far is also the most poetic: I have some contacts overseas, some in Yemen, Nigeria, Syria. Mercenaries, mostly. I'm sure they'd love to have a strong boy like you in their forces, fighting on their front lines. I wouldn't even make them pay – you'd be a gift. You'd be thrown into the kind of war even you haven't seen before – desperate, dirty, the lowest of the low. If you kept your head down and killed who they told you to kill and bombed what they wanted you to bomb, you might even live to see next year.

"I doubt it, though – I know you have a weak stomach for violence, and the moment you told them no, you'd be tortured within an inch of your life and thrown into the heart of an unwinnable battle, an inevitable casualty. You would die terribly, an innocent forced to fight in a battle that wasn't supposed to be yours." He paused, seeming to relish the horror in MacGyver's eyes. "Now that I think about it, yes," he mused, "that _has_ to be the best option. It's the only way that my son will get true justice."

Mac felt bile biting at the back of his throat. Mason had proven that he wasn't just a cast-out FBI agent corrupted by grief. He was pure evil, a madman so bent on revenge that he was willing – no, eager – to turn an innocent man's life into a living hell. Mac knew he had to find a way to escape. Once Mason left him alone – he would have to, at some point – he'd find a way, any way, to escape. But without his hands, what could he do? Desperation clung to him like sweat. How could it have come to this? How could it have happened?

Mason was speaking again, this time to Mac's dad. "Well, what do you think, Dad? Good plan, isn't it? Solid, poetic – straight out of a Shakespeare tragedy."

Mac now chanced at glance at his father: Although the man stayed composed and silent, his eyes burned like twin suns of fury and despair. Instead of making Mac feel better, the look on his dad's face only made him feel worse. It meant that Oversight had no immediate plan to get him out of this. It meant that this was really happening.

"Oh, look – you do care," Mason commented dryly, acid in each word. "It will take a bit to work out the fine details," Mason said, turning back to Mac. "Especially since my base of operations has been compromised. But–"

They never got to hear what came next. The shattering of a glass pane, the hiss of a stun grenade, and then everything was smoke and light and pain…

When Mac came to his senses, he saw about ten people in black tactical gear standing before him. His first desperate thought was that it was Jack, Jack had come for him, had brought a team to get him out. Then he remembered with the deepest ache yet that Jack was still gone, and he squinted through the haze for Desi or Matty or Boze or Riley or even Taylor.

But then he saw the bright red hair, the glint of a nose ring, and he knew who had interrupted Mason's big day. Codex.

The red-haired woman surveyed the scene before her with vague interest, taking in Mason, gun inches away from his limp fingers as he lay sprawled on the floor with a cut on his forehead – he must have hit his head – and Mac and his father, trussed up with an entire roll of duct tape between them, blinking languidly in the aftermath of the grenade, Mac's face tinted green from the nausea building up inside of him.

"Huh," she said. "Looks like he did our job for us." Into her radio, she reported, "The packages are all wrapped up and ready to be delivered." She ran her eyes briefly over each of the men before her. "None too worse for the wear, either – a little shaken up." She walked over and cut James free first, then Mac, from their chairs, and two of her comrades pulled them to their unsteady feet. James rubbed his wrists that had finally been disconnected from the arms of the chair, but didn't attempt to fight, surrounded as they were. He reached up and pulled the tape off of his mouth, and then his son's. Mac winced as it pulled at the tender skin around his mouth.

He pulled in a deep, urgent breath, trying to quell the sickness wanting so ardently to bring him, vomiting, to his knees. Even with all of his training, he could barely process what had just happened.

"You okay, son?" he heard his father ask.

The words didn't want to come, they wouldn't come, so Mac just nodded – a lie so loud it might as well have been screamed.

James reached for the tape around Mac's wrists and hands – finally! – but was stopped by the red-haired girl. "Leave it," she ordered gruffly. Mac felt the tell-tale burning of indignant tears threaten the back of his eyes. After everything he had just been through, all the fear and hopelessness and the sadistic roller-coaster ride Mason had forced him through, and _this_ was what was going to break him?

He composed himself fairly quickly, though, and quirked a smile that probably looked more nauseated than cocky and remarked, "I see my reputation precedes me."

The girl ignored him, ordered her companions, "Leave the old man," and began herding her prizes out of the door with Mason still lying on the floor, alive or dead, Mac didn't know. He didn't even have it in him to care at this point.

Despite the fact that he was now in Codex's hands, that he had no idea if the Phoenix had an inkling of what was happening to them, that they might very well be on their own, hurtling headfirst into another deadly unknown at the hands of this newest enemy, Mac couldn't help but breathe a tiny sigh of relief as they were bundled into the back of a black SUV and bags were dragged over their heads.

He felt his father's hand squeeze his shoulder as he tried to find a comfortable position with his arms and hands still cocooned behind his back. He relished the contact, wished that he could give his father the same comfort, and spent the rest of the drive in almost contented silence.

He would have never thought he'd be so happy to be a prisoner of Codex, but anything was better than the chair and the gun and the plans that Mason had for him.

Anything.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know your thoughts! Another MacGyver story is coming up tomorrow! :)
> 
> ~Emachinescat ^..^


End file.
